


Rules of the Night Vale Community Radio Station

by DarthSuki



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cecil Is Not Described, Eldritch Abomination Cecil, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Smut, Surprise Blowjobs tbh, Surprise Sex, Tentacle Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 12:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: There are several rules at the Night Vale Community Radio Station. Most of them are simple and direct, and most of them you tend to follow without much question since you care very much for your life and limbs.There's one though that you love to break though: never enter the recording room when Cecil's actively broadcasting.





	Rules of the Night Vale Community Radio Station

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my WTNV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/)

At the Night Vale Community Radio Station, there are several strict rules that everyone knows to follow:

  1. Do not take photographs of Khoshekh (it will cause immeasurable amounts of pain, and also death, that’s pretty important)  
  

  2. Never use the third door down the hallway from the main break room, the one near the exit. Nobody is quite sure where that door leads. Only complete darkness and the vague sound of distant screaming greets the soul who dares to open it. Three interns were already lost to the door.  
  

  3. Don’t leave trash in the break room. That’s just rude.  
  

  4. _Never_ enter the recording booth while Cecil is live on the air unless there is a world-ending emergency sure to rip apart the fabric of the universe itself. Or maybe if the building is on fire, but that’s up for debate, he hasn’t given anyone a solid answer on that one yet.



They aren’t difficult or particularly illogical rules to follow–especially that second one; how could someone not realize the door was the entrance to a pocket dimension?

Regardless, they are usually unspoken rules learned as soon as someone starts working for the radio station. Literally speaking. They are planted into the interns heads the moment that they step through the bloodstone-carved entrance, along with various fun facts about the life cycle of several kinds of moss.

Even you heed the power of the unspoken rules–though chaos and anarchy are both perfectly viable options in lifestyle choice, you prefer not toss your life into that of lawlessness since it didn’t tend to make very much money. And you like your job! You like your job very much; being Cecil Palmer’s assistant certainly afforded you to do a lot of different things. You can do things like get your research information quicker, get people to open up to you for interviews, meet people easier….

…Go into his recording booth while he’s live on the air for nefarious, totally unprofessional purposes. Okay, so maybe you’re not beholden to  _every_  one of the rules above–but considering that Cecil was your partner, you figure that is grounds for an exception.

The door isn’t locked, so it’s easy enough to slip inside of the padded, sound-proofed room and shut the door behind you. Cecil has his headphones on, practically oblivious to the world around him as he speaks in a smooth, sonorous tone into the microphone in front of his face.

His desk is positioned so that he’s sitting away from the door, which only makes it easier for you to slowly, carefully creep up behind him. You wait until he’s between sentences before wrapping your arms around the man’s waist from behind, pressing your chest to his back.

You can hear his near-silent gasp of air as his head quickly turns around, catching just a glimpse of you–all of the tension in his body loosens almost immediately when he realizes you’re not a would-be murderer, though it’s obvious there is confusion painted over his face.

You merely grin widely, teasingly in return. 

There’s really no way for him to shoo you out of the room without causing an issue for the broadcast, so Cecil quickly realizes that he’s without much room to do more than let you settle up against him. 

In the span of what must have only been three seconds he’s back to speaking in that measured tone of his, going over a story that you can’t make yourself follow. Something something feral dogs, something something plastic bags, you feel like you’ve heard it once before anyway.

As the man speaks, you can’t help but lean forward and let your lips gently caress against the nape of his bare,  _sensitive_  neck.

Cecil can’t hide the shiver through his body.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on right now. Cecil has to have figured it out by the time your lips part and press open, soft kisses along the skin you can reach with that totally silly, lovely sweater vest he has on.

One kiss, then another, and then a third. 

Cecil still manages to speak through them, though every press of your lips pulls another shiver from his body. You can feel it with how your arms are wrapped around him, warm and tight. 

Teeth skimming against his skin, softer than a feather.

He’s still managing to speak with some level of coherency, enough that any random listener wouldn’t have the slightest clue of what was going on just behind the voice falling so smoothly from whatever speaker they are listening from. It takes a careful and familiar ear to catch all of the smallest tells: deeper breaths, longer pauses, a catch to his vowels.

“You’re cute like this,” you whisper into the shell of his ear, just soft enough that only he can hear it. “Shivering like a leaf. Makes me wonder if you  _like_  me doing this to you.”

Cecil doesn’t answer you, but you feel the way his body shifts in a way you’ve grown familiar with. It’s a confirmation in all but words, the same shifting he does when he’s aroused, when he’s seconds away from soft little breaths and sweet murmurs of want.

All from a few kisses on the neck.

It’s vaguely surprising, though it nudges you to wonder if there’s something else at play here–if there’s a kink you’ve yet to learn about, some fantasy you haven’t been privy to before, then you’re certainly becoming  _very_  aware of it now.

Cecil certainly makes no move to stop you despite having every ability. He could simply push the broadcast over to a pre-recorded sponsorship or even to the weather, but the man continues on in his subtly-flustered voice, letting you do filthy things with your mouth against his neck. You can feel every shiver and hear every gentle, barely-there lilt of his words. It’s obvious that he’s getting aroused by this simple gesture, but it makes your stomach flip a little to peer around the man’s shoulders and catch how his legs shift apart, how there’s a barely-there shape in between them, pressing against the fabric of his pants.

And then a thought hits you, falls into your thoughts like a shadow and seeps into every nook and cranny of thought until it’s all you can think about.

Oh, now that’s an  _idea._

Cecil tries desperately to muffle a moan from between his lips when you finally pull away from him. Though a little desperate, he has enough sense and professional poise to keep the noise from coming through completely–the rest he’s able to hide away by faking a cough, though that in itself is quite a tell to someone who knows him well enough. If there’s something Cecil has long-since mastered, it’s the ability to speak, to communicate as fluidly as water runs down a stream; coughing, stuttering, none of that happens during a broadcast.

Not unless there’s something  _distracting_  him, of course.

And whatever could there be to  _distract_  him right now?

Admittedly, the look on your face must be full of mischief, so you can’t much blame Cecil for flinching in shock when you finally move, falling to your knees and all but crawling beneath his desk to take a spot between his legs like you were meant to be there all along.

He’s not exactly in a position to question you out loud, but his wide-eyed expression is certainly enough to make amusement bubble in your stomach, your face perched gently over one of his knees. He stares at you for a few moments before catching himself in the pause of his words before it lingered on for too long to pretend it’s nothing. He leans forward over the desk, not so much a half-hearted attempt to ignore the fact that you’re doing  _exactly_  what he thinks you’re doing, but instead so he can try to focus on the broadcast.

You are perfectly content to test that very focus.

Since Cecil’s legs are splayed apart already, it’s easy to play your fingertips and palms up his inner thighs. There’s a soft shimmer in his tone, but the man otherwise keeps a level voice even as your hands reach up and play at the zipper of his pants. There’s absolutely no hiding his arousal now, not when you’re settled at his feet and getting an eyeful of just how much Cecil is enjoying this bit off  _attention_.

There’s no attempt to muffle the impulse in your mind as one of your palms move to rub gently over the hard shape forming between Cecil’s thighs, applying just enough pressure that he nearly jumps in his seat.

Oh, that was close–he almost broke, muffling a gasp just quickly enough to make it sound like another cough. Even though you can’t see his face, you imagine that it’s hot with a beautiful mix of need and embarrassment.

So of course you do it again, carefully grinding the heal of your palm over the shape of his dick straining needily against his pants until Cecil’s hips start shifting in kind. He’s nearly rutting against your hand before you decide to offer him a little more relief; undoing the button and zipper of his confining pants doesn’t take more than a minute at most, if only because you don’t want to make too much noise and alert the thousands of people listening on the other end of Cecil’s microphone.

No need for any of them to  _really_  know what’s going on. Cecil’s sweet voice belongs only to you, after all.

Once released from its confines, you watch in delight as Cecil’s cock practically jumps into the open air, uncurling to it’s full length from what you assume must have been quite the uncomfortable tight space.

You’ve seen it plenty of times before, but never quite this close–never had the reason to when the man was otherwise concerned with getting it inside you in one way or another, but it’s absolutely  _lovely_.

A brilliant shade of purple that matches his tattoos, while soft and tapered in shape from base to tip. It squirms in the air in front of your face, seeking out some form of contact, any at all that it can get. You offer the tendril-like shape one of your hands after a moment and watch as it eagerly wraps around your fingers and grips tightly, a coil of warm, slick flesh that piques your curiosity as much as it does your arousal.

It’s covered in a semi-translucent slickness, smearing it across your skin everywhere it touches. All you can do is try and stroke the thumb of your captured hand along what you can of its length and feel the way Cecil’s body shivers at the simple touch.

There’s another lilt to his voice, stronger this time, almost enough that it breaks a word into two semi-coherent sounds.

“I’m sorry, listeners,” Cecil says, sounding far more composed than you would have given him credit for for the way his cock is throbbing and twisting against your hand. “I think I might have caught what we all had going around last week. Not the week we’ve all purged from our memories, but the other one–you know that one. I’m sure we all know how uncomfortable it is to get through such an illness, but seeing as I’m the only one who really knows how to run this soundboard and well, the radio show must go on one way or another.”

It’s a solid excuse, but you’re not sure how long Cecil is going to be able to keep it up–if a simple stroke of your thumb along his cock could make him offer a  _lie,_ then you’re not sure how he’s going to handle, well….

This.

You have to shift your body a little, but you lean your face forward and between the man’s open legs. Most of his cock is still wrapped snugly around a couple fingers of one hand, but it leaves a few inches of the tip free and squirming over itself. It doesn’t take much effort to pull it between your lips and gently suck it against the flat of your tongue–

Cecil’s body shakes. Maybe he hadn’t expected that, or maybe he had and didn’t realize how it would make him feel–either way he’s shaking, his legs are as open as they can be and his voice sounds like a string pulled so tight that it’s about to snap in half. 

“-we’ve got word that the Ralphs has-…got….new deals-deals for….” 

The stuttering is beyond what Cecil can hide. You feel one of his legs start bouncing next to your face, something he only does when he’s nervous or overstimulated or all of the above. You contemplate pulling your face back after a few moments, feeling the shift of the tendril press against your tongue. Had you gone too far too fast?

You don’t get the time to finish the decision before Cecil makes it for you; one of his hands move beneath the desk and to the back of your head. His fingers bury themselves in your hair and anchor you exactly where you are, not letting you shift back even if you wanted. 

“Let’s go now to one of our pre-recorded spuh-…sponsorships…!”

After a moment you hear the click of a switch and a shift of a dial, and only then does the desk shake as Cecil leans his upper body against it, chest flat and forehead pressing into the cool surface.

By this point you’ve managed to pull your hand free from the vice-like grip of your lover’s squirming dick, leaving it instead to press deeper into your mouth with the help of Cecil’s hand pressing needily against the back of your head. It forces you to take him deeper, so deep that you feel the tip of the tendril flicking desperately against the sides of your throat. 

You can’t help but moan a little around the girth of the organ and  _suck_.

It takes a little finesse and quite a bit of trial-and-error, but you eventually find a rhythm and suction that makes Cecil’s body shake like it did before. For all the differences his cock had against that of a normal humans, he sure doesn’t lack for sensitivity.

“Fuck,” he curses softly. “Fuck fuck fuck please more, darling, pleasepleaseplease-”

It’s just words at this point, falling from his lips. Just words and moans and growls that he can’t be bothered to contain anymore. You moan around his cock at such a beautiful litany of sounds coming from him, every beg and plea in dulcet tones that  _need_  and  _want_  all the same as the organ in your mouth, squirming against your tongue.

So beautiful.

His fingers tug harder into your hair. You can feel him getting close, his body straining and his hips starting to shift and wiggle and  _rut_  against your face. A new slickness starts to drip down your throat; after swallowing down a few times you come to the realization that it’s precum of some sort, tasting almost sticky and sweet and leaving your head whirling in a haze of lust.

A few seconds, a few minutes, maybe even a few hours-it would feel all the same to you in the end, focused solely on the hot, even pace of Cecil’s hips against your mouth. His moans are breathy and sweet, your name filling every other word that comes from him. Though you try your best to press your tongue up against his writhing cock and hum soft vibrations down the length, most of the work is done is from his end of things.

Needy. Desperate. Whining.

You imagine the clock ticking down to zero from the pre-recorded message playing right now. How many seconds does Cecil have left?

The question doesn’t hang in your thoughts for too long.

Cecil cums with a shout, breathless and sharp and with all the tense pleasure otherwise communicated in how his hips grind against your mouth, how the tendril spills hot liquid down your throat in one last motion hard over the flat of your tongue. All you can do is swallow it down, every drop, trying not to linger your thoughts on how oddly sweet it tastes to you.

The real pleasure is how he says your name. It’s loud and drawn out, tight in all the right places that leave you shivering just by hearing it. You’ve never heard someone say your name in quite a way, and you doubt that anyone’s heard Cecil in this way either--the thought makes you feel a little possessive and smug, if only for a moment, letting yourself come down from the personal high as the man slumps in exhaustion against you-

-and you hear the flick of a switch from somewhere above the surface of the desk.

“We’re back, listeners,” Cecil says, sounding far too smooth and composed for a man who had been nearly sobbing in pleasure just a minute before. “My assistant popped in here during the sponsored segment and, let me tell you, I feel so much better.”

No, there’s something more than that. His voice is composed, sure, but there’s a new layer to it. Something powerful, something...

....something almost mischievous.

You try to pull your head back only to realize that Cecil’s hand is still there, fingers still buried in your hand and keeping you still. His cock is still snug in your mouth and pressing over your tongue, though it’s still and lazy from where it had been squirming around itself just before.

It doesn’t take you more than a few seconds to realize what you’ve gotten yourself in as Cecil’s legs sweep around, his ankles hooking themselves against your back to keep you caged, mouth around his cock and his voice sounding far too possessive and thick with heat.

“They’re a little concerned for me, I think,” Cecil muses above the desk. “I  _told_  them that they didn’t have to stay in the studio with me, but you know how loved ones are when you’re under the weather. So  _caring_  and  _attentive_. I’ll try not to let them be to  _distracting_  while they stay during the broadcast.”

You don’t need to see Cecil’s face to hear the wide grin in his words.


End file.
